Out of the Ashes
by KatPee81
Summary: I started writing this because I wasn't satisfied with the two-page epilogue that could be summed up as "Peeta and I are married, and we have two children, and there are no more Hunger Games." I wanted more story, and this is how I imagine it went. It's a little mushy, but it's what goes on in my silly, romantic brain.
1. Chapter 1

I walk in the door, hauling my game bag over my shoulder. I didn't make out too badly today. Two rabbits, three squirrels and a wild turkey.

"Peeta!" I call out. No answer. I wonder where he is. I hate coming home to an empty house.

I go upstairs for a shower, but instead of finding the bathroom behind its usual door, I walk into a large room with concrete walls. A long metal table occupies the center of the otherwise empty room. Peeta is strapped to it, with long, liquid-filled tubes spiraling into his arms.

"You stay away from me!" he yells in a frantic voice. I whip around to see who he's talking to, but I'm the only one here. "Get out of here, you stinking mutt!" I'm horrified when I realize he's talking to me.

"No, Peeta." I try to reason with him. "No, they've hijacked you." I go over to him, try to undo the restraints, but it's no use. He's strapped down tight.

I freeze as, out of nowhere, I am assaulted by the smell of blood and roses. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure it's audible.

"I thought we agreed never to lie to each other, Miss Everdeen!" The loathsome, familiar voice is right behind me. Slowly, I turn to find President Snow, accompanied by a man wearing a white lab coat and holding a syringe. Before I can react, Snow grabs my wrists.

"Let me go!" I snarl. I struggle in a futile attempt to free myself as the man injects the blue liquid into me.

"Katniss. Katniss." It's Peeta's voice again, only this time it's much calmer, and has taken on the form of a distant echo.

I continue to struggle. "Let me go!"

"Katniss." Peeta's voice gradually becomes louder and closer. "Katniss, wake up. Wake up."

I jerk awake, panting and sweating. Peeta is there holding my wrists. His face is inches from mine, but it's too dark to see his expression. "Katniss, it's okay," he whispers. "It's just a dream."

It takes a few moments for me to orient myself. I'm in my own bedroom. All is quiet. It was just a dream. It wasn't real. Sweet relief floods through me as it all sinks in.

"Peeta!" I sob. He lets go of my wrists—I must have been thrashing around—and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his chest. "Snow had you."

"I'm right here," he whispers. His voice is soothing. "Nobody has me but you now." He brushes my hair away from my forehead. "Try and go back to sleep."

My nightmares usually consist of gruesome images reminiscent of the Games or the war—tracker jacker attacks, a desperately needed source of water that is always just out of reach, blood rain, barbed wire nets—but tonight's was especially brutal in comparison. Peeta being brainwashed into believing I was one of Snow's mutts—into forgetting that he loved me—is one of the worst things I have ever been through.

But those days are over. Snow is dead. Peeta is here with me. Safe. With this knowledge, I slowly begin to relax. I shut my eyes and let the steady drumming of his heartbeat lull me back to sleep.

* * *

I wake several hours later, still wrapped in Peeta's arms. He must have felt me stir, because in response, he tightens his hold on me. "Don't go yet," he says groggily, without opening his eyes.

"Okay," I say in an equally groggy voice. I'm not going to argue. I can tell by the sounds from outside the window that dawn is close at hand, and I'll have to go hunting soon. A lot of people depend on the meat I bring in. But it's cold outside, and I am in no hurry to leave Peeta's warmth. So for the next few minutes, we just lie there, holding each other.

But trust Buttercup to ruin the serenity. His sharp wailing lets me know he wants to go out.

"Shut up, you stupid cat!" I fling a pillow in the general direction of the noise, but don't see where it lands. I try to ignore his cries, but Buttercup simply won't have that. He gets louder and more demanding until it becomes unbearable.

I sigh in defeat. There's no way to compete with that.

"Oh, all right." Peeta kisses me before letting me go. "Morning breath."

"Oh, look who's talking," I say, playfully pushing him away.

He yawns and stretches. "Let me make breakfast before you go."

* * *

I sit at the kitchen table sipping hot tea as Peeta pulls a large tray out of the oven. It's comforting to have a sense of normalcy again. Although, in the last three years, the definition of normal has changed quite drastically.

I can't deny that I yearn for my old life. To have my mother and sister and me living under one roof again. But that will never happen. My sister is dead, and my mother is far away. If Reaping Day three years ago had been like any other—just show up in the Square at two, hope like hell your name isn't picked, sigh with relief when it isn't, and then go about your business—then I would still have my family with me.

But it wasn't like that. Not for Peeta and me. For us, being carted off to the Capitol was only the beginning. We were swept up into things that were out of our control, and now so many we love are gone.

I probably shouldn't complain. As much as I've suffered, my hardships can't hold a candle to Peeta's. Not only did he lose his entire family—mother, father and two brothers—when the district was bombed, he was tortured by the Capitol, his memories stolen, and altered into lies. He was changed into a completely different person, and even though the old Peeta is back, he will never fully heal. Every now and then he suffers from flashbacks, and is still uncertain about the authenticity of some of his memories—especially the ones involving me.

I hear Johanna Mason's words all the way from our bunker in District Thirteen. "There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things."

And the incredible thing is Peeta is the whole reason I've been able to move forward. Despite everything he's suffered, he still has hope. His natural optimism is the perfect antivenom for my cynicism. Without him, I'd still be wallowing in depression. Maybe even insane. Or maybe I wouldn't be here at all.

The nightmares don't come as often as they used to with him there at night, but they will never really go away. This is a truth I accepted long ago. But maybe it would help if I didn't have this house as a constant reminder of how I came to live here. I loved my house in the Seam. It was simple. It fit me like a glove. This huge place, with its many rooms and its ornate furniture...it's not me at all. Rather, it's a representation of what the Capitol sought to turn me into.

My mother and Prim liked it here, but they're long gone. Most of the refugees who returned from Thirteen stayed in the Victor's Village temporarily, but are now established in their own newly built homes. Why am I still here?

"You're quiet," Peeta places a large cinnamon roll in front of me. Comfort food. He takes the chair next to me.

"Just deep in thought," I tell him.

"The nightmare last night?" he asks.

I shake my head. Funny, but as ugly as last night's nightmare was, I'm not especially bothered by it right now like I would normally be after a less extreme one. Maybe it's because when I woke from it, I could see Peeta right next to me _not_ being hijacked.

"What is it then?"

"I don't want to live in this house anymore," I say plainly. "I hate it here. I want to go back to the Seam."

"I know," he says.

He knows. Of course he does. This shouldn't surprise me. Peeta might not be as attuned to me as Gale was, but when it comes to the Games, there is never anything to explain. He was there too.

"How about town?" he asks. "Would you consider living in town?"

"Right now, I'd consider living in a cave in the woods."

Peeta laughs darkly. "Let's not."

Where is he going with this? I was just voicing my disgust with my current living situation. The thought of leaving has only crossed my mind in the last few minutes. It hasn't progressed to actual planning—not yet. But he just brought up living in town... Was there a purpose behind his question?

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've been thinking about reopening the bakery," he says. "In the square, where the old one used to be."

"Oh?" This is news to me.

He reaches over and takes my hand. "And when it's done, I thought you and I could have a toasting." He locks his blue eyes on mine. "How about it, Katniss?"

The idea pulls me up short. A toasting. District Twelve's traditional marriage ritual. Peeta is asking for my hand. This is something I never would have even considered three years ago, before the Hunger Games had been abolished. When bringing children into the world meant risking them being reaped for seven years of their lives. I swore then that I would never let that happen.

I hesitate long enough for Peeta to pick up on it. "Or we can live in the Seam if you want."

"No, town will be fine," I say. "Go ahead with the bakery." That my mind is in a different place doesn't get lost on Peeta.

"What is it, Katniss?" he asks. "Do you not want to get married?" The look on his face suggests he's afraid of what the answer might be.

"No," I tell him, but that's not what I meant to say. I quickly retract. "I mean, yes. Yes, I do. Just...the thought scares me a little. And it shouldn't...because the reason no longer exists."

Peeta takes a moment to consider what I've just said. "You're still afraid to have children." Again, things I don't have to explain to him.

I nod, but even I can't put my finger on why I continue to have reservations even now that the threat is gone. "Don't worry about it though," I tell him. "It's just...old habits." I guess that's it, anyway.

Peeta places his hand on my cheek. "We'll take it one day at a time, Katniss. But remember what Dr. Aurelius said. About letting fear determine the rest of your life."

"Yeah, I know." I smile at him assuringly. "And I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you." I wonder if he'll recognize the quote.

A confused expression crosses his face. It's the look he sometimes gets when he's unsure about a memory. "I think I said that to you once. Right before the Quarter Quell. We spent that night and the entire next day alone. Real or not real?"

"Real," I say. Looks like the Capitol couldn't steal all of his memories.

"So am I to take it your answer is yes?"

"A firm and decided yes," I tell him.

"Good," he says. "Now get over here."

I laugh out loud as pulls me into his lap. I lean in and press my lips firmly to his; my hands snake around his neck, and through his hair. Every kiss we've shared since our return to Twelve has brought with it the welcome sensation that I am melting into him. I can now kiss him because I want to, not because I'm expected to. And with no more confusion over my feelings for him, no more cameras following us around, and Peeta no longer wondering if my actions are genuine, I want to kiss him all the time.

If we're not careful, we'll end up getting a late start to the day.

* * *

The sun is just peaking over the horizon when I get to the woods. It's unusually cold for May, and a layer of frost blankets the ground.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little wistful every time I come out here. I'm reminded of Gale every time I pass our old meeting place, every time I set a snare. He was my dearest friend for many years. But the fact is we began to drift apart the day the Capitol took me away.

Since Peeta came back into my life, I've stopped wondering where Gale and I would be had that fateful day not happened. Still, I can't help but wonder about him_._ Do he and his family like District Two? Do they miss it here? Does he miss me? Has he found himself a lady? Is he happy? I hope he is.

I am. A year ago, I never thought I'd be able to say that again, but, amazingly, I can. Peeta has seen to that. Whatever I felt for Gale can in no way compete with what I feel for Peeta. I know that now.

I feel bad for messing up his proposal this morning. I'm sure he was expecting me to be stupidly excited at the idea. And I am. But I'm also scared witless.

It isn't necessarily marriage that has me quaking in my hunting boots. We're practically married already. Ever since I first declared my love to Peeta, he's all but moved in with me. He eats at my house, bakes at my house, paints at my house, sleeps in my bed. We might as well make it official. He only goes to his own house for...well, come to think of it, I don't remember the last time he needed to visit his house. I think he keeps art supplies there or something.

But I know Peeta, and he'll want children. And why shouldn't he have them? He'll be a good father, and it would be wrong of me to deny him the opportunity just because I'm afraid.

But _why_ am I still afraid? The Games are no longer an issue.

Forget hunting. I need to get to the bottom of this if I am to give Peeta the future he dreams of. I lower my bow and, paying little mind to where I'm headed, stroll deep into the woods, digging into my heart for the answer. Before I realize it, I'm at my father's lake, and it suddenly hits me. My father's death had nothing to do with the Games or the war. He died doing what he did every day—going to work in the mines. And therein lies the reason for my fear. Because there are always dangers out there threatening to take away those you love.

But that's ridiculous. With that logic, why bother loving anyone at all?

I shake my head as if to clear it. Peeta is right. If I let fear keep me from being happy, then I essentially turn control of my life over to the Snows and Coins of the world. And I know I mustn't let that happen. I resolve to stop worrying about it and be happy. I'll face this fear one day, and I know Peeta will wait patiently until I am ready to do so.

I get back to hunting, taking out as many waterfowl as I can to make up for the time I lost walking up here. Luckily, they're easy pickings around the lake.

Between what I shot myself, and what I trapped in the snares, I have all the meat I can carry. I heft my game bag over my shoulder and make my way back to the district.

I stop by the Victor's Village to drop off a turkey at my house. Peeta won't be there. He's in town helping with the reconstruction along with every other able bodied person who returned in the last year. Everyone able to lend a hand has joined in. While participation is voluntary, not mandatory, it's understood that it's going to take all of us to make this district functional again.

During the mile and a half walk between the Village and the Square, I run into an uncharacteristically sober Haymitch, who is hefting two large bags. Given the fact that the train was due today, and the telltale sound of clinking glass, it's not hard to guess what he's carrying. He never seems to have enough liquor to hold him until the next shipment arrives.

"I hear congratulations are in order," he says. "For real, this time."

I can't help grinning. "So you saw Peeta."

"Yeah," he says, "but I should probably warn you, everybody and their mother has heard by now."

"What? I haven't even told my mother yet," I say. But it's not surprising that the news has spread like wildfire. With all that's happened, people eagerly cling to the smallest shreds of happiness.

"The boy is over the moon about it," says Haymitch.

"No doubt about that," I say. "He's been waiting for this day since he was what, five?"

"I'll be sure to get Plutarch on the phone right away." he says.

"That's very funny, Haymitch," I say.

"And your prep team will be thrilled to death!" He yells after me as I walk away.

My next stop is to see Greasy Sae. Just as she did at the Hob, she cooks soup over a kettle. Only now, she passes it out free of charge. It's her way of contributing to the rebuilding effort, since she's not physically capable of providing labor. I provide the meat—my way of contributing. Although sometimes I'll grab a hammer if I get back early enough.

"I heard a rumor about you," she says.

"I hear there's no one who hasn't," I say.

"Glad to see you alive again, child," she says.

Alive. It's an appropriate choice of words. When I first returned home, I was practically a vegetable. I spent the first few months confined to my kitchen—well, more precisely, to the chair by the fire—refusing to budge. Greasy Sae came around twice a day to make sure I ate.

"Thank you," I say. She knows my thanks are for more than just the comment. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"I think he's working on the sweetshop," she says.

"Thanks. See you later."

Every now and then I am stopped by a well wisher. Leevy, my neighbor from the Seam, who is working as a seamstress, offers to make my dress. I haven't given it much thought—I've only been engaged for a few hours, and I've had other things on my mind. I still have the beautiful gowns that Cinna made for me hanging in a closet at home, but they're too extravagant for a District Twelve ceremony, and too reminiscent of the Capitol. I think I'll go ahead and just rent one from Leevy.

The clatter of hammers and saws becomes increasingly louder as I approach the square. The air is ripe with a mixture of sawdust and paint. It's a slow process, but the town is coming along. A handful of businesses are already up and running.

I make my way toward the sweetshop and I can't help smiling when I spot Peeta applying a fresh coat of white paint. He can never seem to resist the opportunity to pick up a paintbrush, even if it is just for a construction project. He sees me before I'm halfway across the square and runs to meet me. A giggle escapes my lips as he lifts me off my feet and spins me around. Then he kisses me as if no one is watching. We ignore the whoops and hollers coming from all around us. We're used to that sort of thing. It's not like we've never kissed in front of an audience before.

"What's this I hear about you and me getting married?" I ask him teasingly.

"I swear, I only told Haymitch," he says.

I raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "Yes, and I'm sure Haymitch just couldn't wait to tell everyone."

"Okay, I might have mentioned it to Thom when I applied for the building permit," he confesses. "Thom probably told Delly."

"Really? That's odd." This tidbit of information takes me by surprise. "I didn't know Thom and Delly even knew each other."

"Well, apparently, they do." Peeta's eyes dart over to some point to my left. I look in the direction he indicated, and see Thom and Delly several yards away, talking, laughing, holding hands. "They've been getting pretty cozy lately," Peeta whispers.

"I see," I say in a hushed tone. "Thom and Delly, huh?"

Thom is about Gale's age, and used to work in the mines with him. Since returning to Twelve, he has thrown himself into the reconstruction. He's been the go-to guy for the building permits, and ordering supplies. Delly is my age. While she and her brother survived the bombing, their parents were not so fortunate. They ran the shoe shop before, but Delly hasn't expressed any desire to reopen it.

"So you got the permit?" I ask.

"Not yet," says Peeta. "It has to be approved first, but once that happens I can go ahead and order the supplies."

"Katniss! Peeta!" I look around to see Delly hurrying toward us with Thom in her wake. In one arm, she's carrying a package that must have just arrived on the train. She throws her free arm around my neck. "I'm absolutely thrilled for you!"

"Thank you, Delly," I say. I will always be grateful to Delly. After Peeta was hijacked, she was very instrumental in his recovery. She and I became pretty good friends after that.

"Congratulations, Katniss," says Thom, extending his hand. I shake it. "Well, I've gotta get back to work." He turns to Delly. "I'll see you later." He kisses her on the cheek. The look he gives her suggests she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I should get back, too," says Peeta. He places a light kiss on my cheek. "Soon as I'm done here, I'll call it a day." He gives Delly a nod. "Good seeing you, Delly."

"Take care, Peeta," she answers. She then turns on me. "Do you realize you'll be the first couple to marry since we all came back?" she points out.

"I don't know," I say, eying Thom emphatically. "From the looks of things, we might have a little competition. I saw the way you two were into each other just now. How did that happen?" I've never been one for girl talk, but Delly and I have become close, and we now have this in common, so...

Delly's smile widens. "We met a couple of weeks ago working on Greasy Sae's house, and just got to talking, and ever since we've been on the same projects. Of course, he's the one that passes out the assignments, so I know it's not just a coincidence."

"What's in the box?" I ask, indicating the package she's carrying.

"School books," she says. "I'm going to be a teacher."

"Oh." Another surprise. "No more shoe shop, then?"

Delly shakes her head. "That was my parents' thing."

"Well, you'll make a good teacher," I say. "They'd be proud."

Tears begin to form in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, dabbing them with her shirt sleeve. "Well, I need to go find my brother. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with the wedding."

"I will."

I spend the next few minutes wandering around the Square, and eventually find myself at the new Memorial Building. I walk up the steps and go in.

It's a one-room structure, about the size of my bedroom in the Seam, and completely empty of furniture. Peeta lent his talent by painting murals on the inside walls. On the wall opposite the entrance, in large letters, are the words WE REMEMBER.

Upon its completion, a service was held honoring those who were lost. After a few words by the mayor, we were all invited to write the names of our departed loved ones in permanent ink, wherever we could find the space.

I comb through the names trying to locate the one I wrote. A few jump out at me—Rooba the butcher, Madge, Delly's parents—but Primrose Everdeen seems to be lost in the sea of the seven thousand others.

"Here she is." I jump at the sound of Peeta's voice. I didn't hear him come in. He's pointing to a spot about five feet away from where I was searching. "Right next to my family."

I can't stop the tears from coming. Peeta puts his arms around me and holds me close; I bury my face in his jacket and let the tears flow. We stand there wordlessly for a long time. After a while, I look up and see he's crying too.

"Will it ever stop hurting?" he asks.

I'm not sure if the question was meant to be rhetorical, or if he's actually asking about my experience since my father's death so many years ago, but I answer it anyway. "Not completely." I reach up to wipe his eyes with my thumbs. He returns the gesture. "Time will take the edge off, but you'll always miss them."

He kisses my forehead. "I could never face this without you," he tells me. "There would be no life for me if your name were on this wall."

We stand there in our silent embrace a few minutes more. Then he takes my hand, entwining his fingers in mine. "Come on," he says. "Let's go home."

Together, we walk down the road back to the Victor's Village.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where could it be?" I anxiously drum my fingers on the sill of our living room window—our new living room, on the upper floor of the bakery. From here, we'll be able to see when the train comes. If it ever does come. "It was supposed to be here at noon."

Peeta rummages through a box of odds and ends. "Katniss, it's never on time. You know that."

After five long months, our new home will finally see completion. Well actually, it was finished a while ago—we even transplanted the primrose bushes Peeta dug up the morning after he returned last year—but we're still waiting on the furniture. There are very few people around here who know how to make furniture, and very few resources to do so besides, which leaves ordering from District Seven the only option. That's what Peeta and I did, and it should have been here over an hour ago, along with my mother. And once it gets here, we can finally move out of that despicable Victor's Village.

We could have been married months ago. Here in Twelve, planning a wedding is a simple matter. We don't require months of preparation like that sham of a wedding President Snow was pretending to throw for us. For a typical wedding in the Capitol, there are always huge decisions to be made, like what kind of flowers, and food, and decorations. They send out invitations on fancy stationery weeks ahead of time, and the bride spends a ton of money on a dress made of delicate white fabric that will only be worn once. Cinna even told me that the couple usually takes an expensive vacation for their honeymoon.

Peeta and I will not be doing any of that. My dress will be rented. We will go to the Justice Building to fill out some paperwork, which will legally seal our union. Usually the couple receives a housing assignment at that time too, but Peeta and I already have this bakery. Then, we'll have some friends over who will sing our traditional wedding song as Peeta and I cross the threshold, which is the very reason we waited until the bakery was finished—we didn't want the Victor's Village to be any part of it. We'll all have a meal together. Then, after everybody leaves, Peeta and I will light our first fire, and toast some bread to share.

That's how we do it here in Twelve. And since Peeta and I are only having a few people over, it'll only take a couple of days to pull it all together.

Every few seconds I look up at the clock, but it seems to have stopped working. My impatience graduates from finger drumming to pacing. After several trips back and forth across the room, I turn around, and Peeta's lips are abruptly on mine.

He breaks away after a long moment. "Don't worry. It'll be here."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, we hear a whistle in the distance, and my feet can't carry me to the station fast enough. Peeta is coming up behind me as fast as his artificial leg will allow.

My mother barely steps one foot off the train when I fling myself at her. "It's so good to see you!"

"Look at you," she says. "You're different."

"Different?" I'm not sure what she means. As far as I know, I look the same as ever.

"Yes...There's something..." She studies me closely but can't quite seem to put her finger on it. I shrug off the comment.

"Let me get that for you," Peeta says, taking her luggage. "You must be exhausted."

"Actually, I slept through most of the trip. The train was surprisingly comfortable."

"Holly has been anxious to see you," I tell her. "Why don't you go visit her? That way you won't have to wait around while Peeta and I unload the furniture." It really was rotten luck that my mother arrived on the same train as our stuff.

"That sounds good. It'll be nice to see her again," says my mother. "But I can help you if you'd like. I don't mind."

"No. We're not putting you to work." I turn to Peeta. "I'm going to walk her to the the mercantile to see Holly. Be back in a minute."

As my mother and I make our way through the square, she takes in the sights around her. "My, this is..." She trails off, apparently unable to find the right word.

"Depressing?" I ask. I try not to see it that way, but it's hard sometimes, and I imagine it must be something of a shock for my mother to come home to a bunch of empty foundations where buildings once stood, and such a severely stunted population. It's practically a ghost town compared to the one she grew up in. But the devastation has been cleaned up, and now there's nothing left to do but rebuild. And we've all thrown ourselves into that with a vengeance.

"I wasn't going to say that," says my mother. "But it definitely isn't the same."

"It never will be," I say wistfully. "It's coming along though." I point out several structures that are in the works. "That's going to be the butcher shop. That's going to be the bookstore. And we had the Dogwood Festival back in April. And the Mountain Music Festival last month. We're trying to make a comeback."

My mother takes a hard look at me. "You really are different."

Now I know what she meant when said that before. It wasn't my physical appearance she was referring to, but the vibe I seem to be giving off. Apparently Peeta's positive nature has had a healthy effect on me, and it's showing. But honestly, Peeta doesn't deserve all the credit here. There is an air of hopefulness around everybody in the district. Nobody who came back was forced to. They returned because they believe we can breathe life back into this place. Which is exactly the kind of environment I need.

When I get back to the train station, I'm glad to see Thom, Delly, and even Haymitch there to help make short work of hauling the furniture. In less than two hours, we're done.

After they leave, Peeta comes up and puts his arms around me. "Our home is finally ready," he says.

"Finally!" I rest my head on his chest. "Can we go to the Justice Building now?" I'm half serious about it.

"I'd love to," Peeta replies. "But we don't have a cake yet."

"Right. Tomorrow then."

"Tell you what," he says. "I'll do the baking tomorrow. You get your dress from Leevy, and we'll go to the Justice Building on Friday. You can wait two more days, can't you?"

"I guess so," I say. "Just don't forget the cheese buns."

* * *

My mother and I spend the evening at home catching up. Since she's visiting, Peeta and I will be staying these last couple of nights in the Victor's Village with her. But once we're married, we'll be leaving this great big beautiful mansion behind forever.

We talk about the wedding. The bakery. She talks about work. Since moving to District Four, she's officially become a trained nurse, but says it's really no different from what she did here as only a healer.

I show her the memory book that Peeta and I spent the better part of last year working on. It's creation played a key role in the healing process for us. So many late nights we stayed at the kitchen table reliving every memory, good and bad alike. Talking, talking, talking. Weeping, laughter, more weeping. Letting it all out. Purging our emotions with each new addition. Even Haymitch, with his contribution of twenty-three years of lost tributes, was able to find a sense of release.

My mother lingers on Prim's page, but does not say anything.

"Is it very painful for you to be back here?" I finally ask.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," she says. "It probably helps that I've had time to grieve. And it's nice to see the mountains again. Although the beach is lovely too."

She turns the page, and comes upon a picture of a beautiful newborn baby with big, sea green eyes, and a full head of bronze-colored hair. Finnick and Annie's son, who she helped deliver.

"Did you know that Holly is expecting?" she asks me.

I look at my mother in disbelief. "Really? When?"

"April."

"Is that why she wanted to see you?" I ask.

"Yes. She had some questions."

Holly and her husband run the mercantile in the square, and were among the lucky few merchants to escape the flames. They have been married almost twenty years, but gave up on having children long ago. This baby is nothing short of a miracle (and I would never say this out loud, but if you ask me, it's probably a good thing that they haven't conceived until recently).

A sudden thought hits me. "There won't be anyone to deliver the baby."

It's true. We don't have a doctor, healer, not even a midwife in the district. At the moment, we are left to our own devices when it comes to medical care. So far, we've been lucky. We have not seen an injury that has required more than basic first aid or an illness that couldn't be cured with a simple home remedy. And while childbirth can go off without a hitch, it sometimes doesn't. My mother must have birthed hundreds of babies when she lived here, and has seen her share of difficulties.

She keeps her eyes studiously glued to the page. "I told her I'd come back in March."

"Why don't you just stay? Move back here?" The words are out of my mouth before I can recall them, and the pleading in my tone takes me by surprise. Even more surprising is that it's not for Holly's sake that I'm asking.

When she told me she would be here for my wedding, I knew she only meant for it to be a temporary visit. I had no intention of trying to convince her otherwise. But now that I have her here, I've suddenly just realized I really do want my mother to stay for good.

When I don't get a response, I keep going. "We can use a good nurse here. You can reopen the apothecary shop, or you can conduct business from this house, like you did before. The factory is opening in the spring, so you'll have medicines right here."

"I'll have to think about it, Katniss."

I guess that's the best I can hope for right now. And I understand. Since Prim's death, my mother's coping mechanism has been to stay busy. And I've no doubt the hospital in Four keeps her busier than the dwindled population of Twelve ever will. Plus in Four, she isn't reminded of Prim at every turn like she would be here. If being here would only send her back into that paralyzing state of despondency she experienced after my father's death, then it's best she stays away.

I decide not to press the issue.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Peeta bakes a casserole for breakfast using eggs from Haymitch's geese. After we eat, he excuses himself to shower and dress while my mother helps me with the dishes.

"Does he stay here with you every night?" she asks me.

"Mom, we're almost married," I say in an exasperated tone. That's the only answer she's going to get. I don't know why, but this question annoys me.

When I go upstairs to dress, I find Peeta sitting cross-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow. He's making an effort at controlling his breathing. I immediately recognize his behavior.

Peeta's flashbacks are nothing new for us. He has been dealing with them since he was rescued and, although his episodes have become less frequent over time—right now they average about two to three times a month—he will likely continue to have them for the rest of his life. Just like my nightmares, they will never really go away. I wonder what triggered this one.

I can't even begin to imagine the grisly images playing in his head, but he deliberately trains his eyes on various familiar objects in the room in an attempt to ground himself to the present. To assure himself that whatever is going on in his mind is only a memory. When his blue eyes find mine, I cautiously make my way over to him. I sit on the bed, and tentatively place my hand on the side of his face. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches up and puts his hand over mine.

"You're safe," I tell him.

We sit there for a few minutes with our eyes trained on one another, waiting for it to pass. After about five minutes, he gives my hand a squeeze and relaxes.

* * *

My mother and I go to Leevy's house in the Seam to pick up my wedding dress. Leevy began working on it the day the bakery was finished.

"Lovely!" my mother says as I look myself over in front of a full-length mirror. I couldn't agree more. It's absolutely perfect. Made of ordinary white fabric, it has a fitted bodice and a flowing, ankle-length skirt that is just short enough to allow me to walk around in flat shoes without tripping over the hem. The long sleeves cover my burn scars nicely.

The best thing about it is that it's not too formal to walk to town in. Or...maybe it is a little, but not so much that I can't get away with it. All it really is is a pretty white dress. The design and fabric are such that in any other color, it wouldn't be a wedding dress at all. Leevy must have made it just for me.

"Thank you, Leevy!" I say. "It's beautiful."

"I'm so glad you like it," Leevy says. "It's the first wedding dress I've made."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," she says. "It's yours to keep."

"What? No way," I say. "You have to let me give you something. Or at least let me return it so that you can rent it out again. You put weeks of work into it."

"Which was my pleasure," she insists. "Consider it a wedding gift."

"All right," I relent. "Let me know if you ever need...some fresh game or something."

Leevy laughs at my attempt to even things up. "Fine. I'll hold you to it."

* * *

My mother and I spend the remainder of the afternoon preparing tomorrow's meal. Once it's done, I wrap it up to drop off at the bakery, where Peeta has spent most of the day. By the time I get there, the sun has already begun to set. I walk through the door, and am greeted by a rich aroma. Peeta is at the counter, kneading a roll of dough.

"Smells good," I say, kissing his cheek.

He returns the kiss. "That's our wedding cake."

"So I assumed." I point to a loaf of fresh bread on the counter. "And is that for the toasting?"

"Yep."

"Then what's that?" I ask, indicating the roll he's working on.

"This is for the cheese buns you requested," he says.

I spot a small bag of flour nearby, and am suddenly feeling mischievous. I gather a handful and fling it at him, powdering his entire face.

"Hey!" He reaches for the bag, but I'm quicker. Before he can get his hands on it, I snatch it up and throw another fistful at him.

"That's it. You're going down!" He reaches for a bowl at the other end of the counter. As soon as I realize it contains leftover cake batter, I start running. A chase around the kitchen ensues. Several times he almost catches me, but I always manage to duck out of the way and take off in another direction. At some point, I fumble the bag of flour, but manage to swipe an egg from the counter as I scurry by.

Finally, he has me cornered. He scoops up some chocolate batter in his bare palm, and smears it across my face and in my hair. I crush the egg on his head and rub it in. By this time, we're both shaking uncontrollably with laughter.

When we finally catch our breath, he leans in toward me and we begin kissing fiercely. I pull him in closer, so that there's not an inch of space between us. He lifts me off my feet and sets me on the counter. I lock my ankles behind his back; his lips find the hollow at the base of my throat and gradually work their way up toward my chin. Heat radiates through my entire body, sending warm shivers up my spine. I hope I never get used to this.

A rapping at the door stops us in our tracks. Given the late hour, and the urgency of the sound, whoever it is isn't just dropping by to say hi. Peeta removes his apron and wipes some of the mess off his face.

I grab a dish towel, and peek through the blinds. "It's Delly."

Peeta opens the door. "Hi, Delly. Is something wrong?"

The sight of the two of us covered in cake ingredients takes her by surprise, but she focuses on the matter at hand. "Katniss, is your mother here? Greasy Sae's granddaughter is very sick."

"She's at the Village. I'll go get her." Peeta dashes across the room and turns off the oven.

I grab my coat, and Delly and I take off toward the Seam.

"Sorry to drop in on you like that," she says. "I saw the bakery light on, and thought I'd try there first."

"It's fine," I say. "What's going on with Lily?"

"We're not sure, but it looks like scarlet fever," Delly says. "Yesterday, she just had a temperature. Greasy Sae managed to keep that under control, but today a rash appeared, and the fever just keeps going up."

Scarlet fever. If they're right about that, then it's a lucky thing my mother is here. Scarlet fever can be very dangerous if left untreated, and the only way to get rid of it is with antibiotics. Antibiotics that District Twelve will not have until the factory opens. Antibiotics that my mother carries in the medical kit, which she keeps with her at all times.

"So, what did I just interrupt?" Delly asks.

I can feel my face heat up as a sheepish grin spreads across it. She knows exactly what she just interrupted. Coming from Delly though, this topic doesn't rub me as badly as my mother's nosiness this morning. She's only a friend who likes her girl talk. Still, there are some things I like to keep private.

"We were just...baking," I say, trying to sound dismissive.

"Yeah, okay. Well, you should probably know there's a chocolate handprint on the back of your pants." I don't need to see her face to know she's grinning. I can hear it loud and clear in her voice.

Wonderful.

"Thanks for the heads up," I say. I know it's too much to hope that nobody else will notice, but there's really nothing I can do about it at the moment.

When we get to Greasy Sae's house, her eight year old granddaughter is lying on a bed, uncovered, wearing nothing but her underclothing. The rash has claimed most of her body. I place my hand on her forehead, and am instantly alarmed by how hot it feels. My mother can't get here fast enough.

"Hi, Lily," I whisper. All she does is look at me. Poor little thing. I know she must be miserable. "My mother is on her way," I tell her, "and she's going to make you feel better." A hint of a smile spreads across Lily's face.

Peeta and my mother show up just a few minutes later. My mother examines Lily and confirms their suspicions about the scarlet fever. She delivers the first round of antibiotics by syringe, and gives Lily something to reduce her fever.

We wait there to make sure the fever medicine works. After almost an hour, Lily is sitting up and talking to us a little. After a while, she asks for a blanket, and is comfortable enough to go to sleep. My mother leaves more medicine with Greasy Sae, along with further care instructions. Greasy Sae does not hold back tears as she expresses her gratitude.

I know I'm being selfish, and maybe I'm a fool for hoping, but maybe it will be enough to convince my mother to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

My mother walks with Peeta and me until we reach the fork in the road. From there, we go our separate ways—her to the Victor's Village, Peeta and me to the bakery.

Peeta opens the door, but before we step inside, he suddenly pauses. He does this sometimes when a thought hits him. It's just one of his little quirks.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Tomorrow, our friends will be singing the wedding song for us as we walk through this door." He says it with such adoration in his voice that I completely melt.

Inside, the aroma of a baking cake still hangs in the air. Peeta takes each layer from the oven and examines them carefully.

"Are they salvageable?" I ask, remembering how they had to be abandoned before we left.

"They actually turned out fine," he says. "Perfect, really. They were probably pretty close to ready before we...got distracted."

I laugh at the memory. "Then I guess it's a good thing Delly stopped by when she did."

I perch myself up on a stool and watch as Peeta gets to work on the frosting. His brow creases in concentration as he tries to produce what he judges to be the perfect shade of orange.

"That's different," I say. I haven't been to many weddings where a cake could be afforded, but whenever there was one, it was usually white. White frosting would be much easier to deal with, since it doesn't require the mixing of dyes, but Peeta enjoys what he does. He can make the cake whatever color he wants. I'm not picky. I just like watching him work.

"It's a fall color," he explains.

"Not to mention your favorite," I add.

"Yeah, that too," he admits.

There is another knock at the door. Who now? We don't technically live here yet, and already people are lining up outside.

"I'll get it." I hop down from the stool.

I peek through the blinds, but don't see anybody.

I step outside. "Hello?"

No answer. Maybe they went to the back door. But why would they do that without giving me a chance to answer the front first?

I walk around the side of the building to investigate, and am pushed to the ground from behind. By who, I can't tell, because my assailant is wearing a mask. Before I can assess the situation, a second masked attacker binds my hands behind my back with a strong adhesive tape.

"Peeta!" I scream.

"Katniss!" he desperately calls back from the kitchen. Is he fighting off an attacker too?

"Shut up, both of you!" orders a gruffly disguised voice, and I can swear there is a ring of familiarity in it.

"You're going to regret this, you ugly piece of—" Before I can finish, my mouth is taped shut and a burlap sack is placed over my head. Bound, gagged, and blind, I am now rendered completely helpless.

Two of the assailants pull me to my feet and tug at my elbows.

"Start walking!" orders the same voice as before. I have no choice but to obey.

I listen intently to try to figure out how many captors I have, but all I can hear are the two sets of footsteps on either side of me, pulling me along. If I do have any more in my company, they're being very careful not to let themselves be heard. How many are holding Peeta hostage? And what are they doing to him? I can't think about it. Him being hurt again, after coming so far in his recovery. I can't stand the thought.

_Hold it together, Katniss_, I tell myself. This is no time for a mental meltdown. I need to keep my head if I'm to find a way out of this.

"Turn right," the voice orders after about seventy steps. I obey, and they pull me onward. I wonder if this person is keeping his commands short because talking like that hurts his vocal cords. Serves him right. I hope he gets a sore throat. No. He won't. I'll slit it before that happens.

After what I judge to be about two miles, I'm ordered to make another turn, and it isn't long before we reach a building. A door opens, and they pull me inside. I hear the sound of a deadbolt lock behind me, and am ushered to a chair.

One of my captors removes the sack from my head. I can tell by her build she's female—they both are. As she untapes my mouth, I take in my surroundings, and immediately recognize where they've brought me. The richly colored carpet, the elegant furnishings...I'm in the Victor's Village. More specifically, I'm at Peeta's house.

Why did these maggots bring me here?

Finally, the other one—not the one freeing my hands—removes her mask.

I gasp. Because I was right. I do know her.

It's Johanna Mason.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm stunned. "Johanna!"

"Surprise, Mockingjay!"

"You scared the hell out of me!" I say.

"Yeah, that was kind of the point, brainless." I see she hasn't changed.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask.

Johanna's accomplice removes her mask. "At the bakery, where you left him. He's a pretty good actor, too. The way he screamed your name, I almost believed it myself."

"Delly!" My jaw drops. Although Johanna and Delly became fairly acquainted in Thirteen—we all sat together at meal times—they are the last two people you'd expect to find in league together. Friendship with me is just about the only thing these two have in common.

I think of the desperation in Peeta's voice as he answered my call. The image of him struggling against his own attacker. The fear I felt for him. And to think he was playing with frosting the whole time...

I'm gonna kill him!

I walk toward the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" asks Delly.

"To make a phone call," I say.

I dial the number to the bakery. Peeta picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"You're in big trouble," I warn him.

Peeta just laughs. "Love you too. Have fun with the girls. I'll see you at the Justice Building tomorrow."

"Are you staying at the bakery tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll miss you, though."

"I'll miss you too, but you're still in trouble. See you tomorrow."

I hang up, and rejoin the others.

"What is this, anyway?" I ask, referring to the bogus abduction.

"It's just a little something we do in District Seven," says Johanna. "To keep the bride and groom apart until the wedding. It was more fun with you though, because you didn't expect it like every bride back home does."

"How did you hear about the wedding?" It's not that I'm not happy to see her, just surprised. We lost touch after the war.

"Haymitch called me."

_Uh-oh._ Suddenly, I'm reminded of something Haymitch said the day Peeta and I got engaged. _"I'll be sure to get Plutarch on the phone right away...And your prep team will be thrilled to death!"_

But I didn't think he was serious. He wouldn't actually do that, would he? No. No, of course he wouldn't. And anyway, if they were here, I'd know it for sure. There's no way anyone from the Capitol, let alone my obnoxious, dimwitted prep team, could lay low here. Just the opposite—they would stick out like a sore thumb.

"When did you get here?" I ask.

"I was on the train yesterday." she says.

Now I'm confused. "I didn't see you."

"Well, I was going to jump out and yell surprise, but you took off with your mom as soon as she stepped off," she explains. "It's okay. This was much more fun."

"Did she know you were on the train?" I ask.

"No, neither of us knew the other was there."

"What about Peeta?"

"Yeah, he was in on it," says Delly.

That explains everything. "So, when I left with my mother, you three cooked up this little scheme."

Delly nods. "Yeah, pretty much."

I roll my eyes. Nice friends.

"Why did you bring me to Peeta's house?"

"He's letting me crash here," Johanna says. "Besides, where else would we go? There's absolutely nothing to do in this district."

She has a point there, considering we're building from the ground up. But we can't really stay at Peeta's house, either. Eventually, we all get hungry, and since it's been a while since it's really been lived in, the cupboards are pretty bare. Besides, I don't feel right ditching my mother. The three of us end up back at my house.

Buttercup comes looking for handouts. "That is one ugly cat," Johanna says.

"Oh, it's a cat!" I drop chunks of food on the floor for him. "I've always wondered."

After we eat, the four of us talk around the fireplace for a while, but sleepiness gets the better of Delly and my mother, and they go to bed early. Johanna isn't tired, and I can't imagine I'll be able to get any sleep tonight, so at Johanna's suggestion, we climb up to the roof. It's a crisp October night, and the air is ripe with the smoke of nearby chimneys. A full moon illuminates the cloudless sky.

"I rarely ever get to see the stars," says Johanna.

"Really?"

"It rains most of the year back home," she explains. "The sky is always full of clouds."

"Oh, yeah. It was raining when Peeta and I were in Seven for the Victory Tour," I recall.

After quiet moment, I speak again. "I'm glad Haymitch told you about the wedding. I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch. I wasn't exactly in the best mental state after the war."

"Were any of us?" she says. "I could barely leave the house when I went home. Remember how I was afraid to go out in the rain in Thirteen?"

How could I forget? She had been captured by the Capitol along with Peeta, and electrocuted for rebel information. She was deathly afraid of water after that.

"But you're okay now, right?"

She shrugs. "Well, I'm not afraid to take a shower anymore. Speaking of which, how's Peeta doing? Since...well, you know."

Now it's my turn to shrug. "Okay, all things considered. We're coping. I mean, we're not opening the bakery because we need the money." If there's anything a Victor isn't hurting for, it's money. "We had to have a phone installed there, so we can continue under the care of our head doctor."

"Together or separately?"

"Both," I reply. "What can I say, Jo? We're trying to eke out the best of a situation that really sucks. Most days are good, but some days..."

"Yeah. Some days."

It feels good to talk about this with someone who can actually empathize. Haymitch can relate of course, but he's busy battling his own demons. Delly is certainly a good friend who doesn't judge or gossip, and she knows all about what happened to Peeta. But unlike her, Johanna has firsthand experience with how the Capitol can really fuck you up.

Not that Delly's experience should be discounted. Sure, she's never been forced into the kill or be killed situation of being thrown into the arena, but she has certainly dealt with her share of trauma. When District Twelve went up in flames, she was faced with the unfortunate choice of saving her parents or her brother. And although she knows she did the right thing, and would do it again in a heartbeat, it's still a horrible choice to have to make. It was enough to call for some time in counseling in Thirteen.

"How are you spending your days?" I ask.

"Teaching girls how to fight," she says. Yes, I can see her doing that. "In self-defense, of course," she tacks on, coloring her tone with innocence.

"Is there a future Mr. Mason to speak of?"

Johanna snorts. "Yeah, right. You'll never see me getting shackled to an old ball and chain." After a long pause, she adds, "Although I might be willing to make an exception for your gorgeous cousin."

I laugh. "Gale, you mean? He's working some government job in District Two." The mirth leaves my voice as I continue. "I haven't seen him since the day I...well, the day we took that vote. We didn't part well."

"What happened?"

It takes a moment for me to answer. "He's connected to Prim's death."

Johanna looks at me expectantly, waiting for a more detailed explanation.

"He designed the bomb that killed her. That's all," I say. "He didn't order the attack. He certainly didn't send her out on the front lines. But I'll never be able to think about one without thinking about the other."

"That's a shame," she says sympathetically.

A deep yawn hits me out of nowhere, and it's becoming difficult to hold my eyes open. Maybe I actually will get some sleep tonight.

"I should get to bed." I carefully make my way to the ladder. "I have a ball and chain to shackle to tomorrow."

"Night, Mockingjay."


	6. Chapter 6

I was wrong. I'm not able to sleep at all. The bed is so empty without Peeta there. And if I have a nightmare, there will be no one to console me. And what about Peeta? He has nightmares too. He may not be as...as animated about them as I am, but he's just as comforted by my presence as I am by his. How could he agree to let these girls tear us apart like this?

I guess he figured one night wouldn't hurt. Maybe he thought I would have fun. And I have. But now, fun time is over.

I make a decision. I spring out of bed and throw on the first clothes my hands touch. I creep through the living room, where Johanna is sleeping on the sofa. Odd, considering there are half a dozen bedrooms to choose from, but I quickly dismiss it. She probably fell asleep watching television or something. I leave the lights off so as not to wake her, and blindly feel my way through the room.

Once I enter the kitchen, it's a clear path to the front door. I pick up the pace a bit.

I hear the crash at the same time I hit the ground. What just happened? I slowly stagger to my feet. The light comes on, and I have to hold my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness. I try to survey the area, but all I can make out are pots and pans strewn about.

"Where do you think you're going?" asks the figure in the doorway.

"Damn it, Johanna!" I squint at her. "What did you do?" I don't know why I'm still whispering. There's no way the other two slept through that racket.

"Is everything okay down here?" It's my mother's voice. She and Delly join us in the kitchen a moment later.

"I caught our little bride-to-be trying to sneak off to see Peeta."

"I was not!" I lie.

With my eyes now adjusting to the light, I can examine the booby trap Johanna rigged up. Pretty simple, really. Just a piece of yarn tied tightly between the table and a cabinet for the sole purpose of causing me to trip. And then, a few feet behind it, she'd stacked all the pots and pans in a sort of pyramid, so that my fall would be nice and loud. It was designed to raise an alarm, rather than ensnare. Simple, yet ingenious.

"I was just putting Buttercup out." I don't know why I feel so defensive.

Buttercup mews at the sound of his name, and for the first time, I notice he's in Delly's arms. Had he been sleeping with her? At any rate, it's now obvious I'm lying.

"Traitor," I say to the cat. He never did like me.

* * *

I don't know what time it is when I finally fall asleep, but when I wake, sunlight is streaming in through the windows. I glance up at the clock, and am horrified to see that it's almost eleven o'clock. I have just over an hour before I'm supposed to meet Peeta.

Johanna and Delly have taken the liberty of sleeping on either side of me. Boxing me in, to ensure that there would be no more trying to sneak out.

"Girls!" I shake both of them on the shoulders. "Wake up!"

"Go away!" Johanna says, pulling the pillow over her head. There is absolutely no response from Delly. I continue to shake them. "You were supposed to make sure I was awake an hour ago!" I scold.

Suddenly, Effie Trinket's voice, with her thick Capitol accent, pops into my head. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!" She would never have let me sleep this late.

"Shut up, Effie!" I think aloud. She's the last person I want invading my thoughts.

Trying to rouse these two is like pulling teeth. Fine. They can stay in bed. I'm going to get married.

And where is my mom? Is she sleeping in too? I check her room, but she isn't there. I hurry down the hall on my way to the kitchen, and nearly bump into her as she comes out of the bathroom.

"Whoa!"

"Oh, good. You're up," she says. "I was just coming to get you. I have a bath ready."

"Thanks, but I really don't have time for a long soak—"

"There's plenty of time," she insists. "The Justice Building isn't going anywhere, and Peeta can be there in five minutes."

She has a point. I can just call Peeta to let him know if I'm running late.

I lie back in the hot water and shut my eyes, but even after ten minutes, I'm unable to relax. Why am I so jittery? I've survived the arena twice. I've stood up to a peacekeeper with a whip. I've fought in a war, and I've assassinated a would-be dictator. So how is it that an event as commonplace as getting married has my stomach feeling like it's being assaulted by butterflies?

Realizing that calming down is impossible, I wash myself up quickly, and get out. When I return to my room, Delly and Johanna aren't there. I put on my dress and go downstairs, where they are all sitting around the kitchen table eating a late breakfast.

"Oh, look at you!" Delly says at the sight of my wedding dress. "Peeta won't be able to take his eyes off you."

I can't help but smile.

"Twirl around," says Johanna. "Let's see if you turn into a mockingjay."

"Already tried," I say dryly. "Didn't work."

"Have a muffin," Delly says, holding one out to me.

"Thanks, but I can't eat right now." I take the chair next to her.

"Nervous?" My mother smiles.

"Oh, how cute!" Johanna teases.

"Nervous doesn't quite cover it," I say.

"I know, dear," says my mother. "You should have seen me right before I married your father. But you're not doing yourself any favors by skipping breakfast."

Yeah, she's probably right about that, too. I accept Delly's muffin while my mother sets to work putting my hair up in Cinna's favorite braid. Once that's done, I'm ready to go. I give Peeta a call—because by now we're running way behind schedule—and the four of us set out toward the square.

The weather couldn't be more perfect. It's pretty mild for October, and although dark clouds to the west promise rain later—maybe even a storm—right now it's absolutely beautiful.

Finally, we make it to the square, and there is Peeta waiting at the foot of the steps of the Justice Building, wearing a white button-down shirt and simple brown pants. He smiles when he sees us coming—his beautiful, heavenly smile, and those bright, blue eyes—and I can't help running. He meets me halfway, and sweeps me up into a kiss. The jitters I've been feeling since I woke up suddenly vanish.

The girls catch up, and I think they're trying to tell us something—something about setting up for the meal while we're filling out the paperwork, and I think there's a lot of throat clearing, too—but we're not paying attention. Eventually, they give up trying to talk to us, and head to the bakery.

"You look beautiful," Peeta tells me after a while.

"I missed you," I say.

"Yes," he agrees. "It was a long night."

"Was it bad?" He knows I'm asking if he had any nightmares.

"No. You?"

"No," I say. "But let's not do that again."

"Agreed." He takes my hand. "Are you ready to do this?"

"Ready," I say. "Let's go."

And we ascend the steps of the Justice Building.


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, this is romantic," I grumble. It seems like we've been filling out this paperwork forever. Question after question. Page after page. I think my hand might fall off.

"It's the main step," Peeta reminds me.

That's right. When we walk out of this building, we'll be legally married.

When we're finally done, we take the stack over to the clerk, who quietly enters the informatin into a computer. This piece of machinery is the closest District Twelve has come to matching the technology we saw in the Capitol, and it can only be found here in the Justice Building. While efforts are being made to bring all of the districts up to speed, progress has been slow. I wonder if the people of the Capitol have computers in their homes. We didn't have them in the Training Center, but even if we had, Peeta and I wouldn't have had any use for one.

Peeta and I carry on a whispered conversation as the clerk works. He laughs as I tell him about the lengths Johanna went to in order to keep me from seeing him.

Eventually, a printer spits out another official-looking document. The clerk stamps it and hands it to us. It's our marriage certificate.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark," he says dully. We quietly thank him, and walk out.

"Whooo!" Peeta and I shout. Once again, he sweeps me up into his arms. I think I'm in heaven.

It's after two o'clock now. As we walk toward the bakery, hand in hand, I notice Peeta staring lovingly at me.

I can't help smiling back. "What?"

He drops his gaze, and his smile becomes...a little rueful? "It's nothing."

"Tell me," I insist.

After a short pause, he says, "I was just thinking..." He hesitates before continuing, "I was thinking that I hope to have a daughter that looks just like you someday."

"Oh." I stare at the ground, trying desperately to not think of the nightmare I had just a few nights ago. In it, we had two children, a boy and a girl. The boy looked exactly like Peeta, and the girl, like Prim. The Hunger Games had not been abolished, and both of our children, ages sixteen and twelve, were reaped the same year. Peeta and I were forced to mentor them, and subsequently watch them die. Our children. Both lost at the same time. As we watched.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't say things like that to be pushy."

"I know."

He squeezes my hand. "I understand how you feel."

"It will happen," I promise him. How, I don't know—especially if I keep having dreams like that—but I _will_ conquer this fear. "I can't guarantee it'll be a girl, though," I add jokingly.

He chuckles, and I put the nightmare behind me for the rest of the day.

When we get to the bakery, our guests are waiting in the backyard for us. They whoop and applaud as Peeta brandishes the marriage certificate. After a series of hugs, they all gather by the front door for the song. My mother starts it off, and everybody else joins in as Peeta and I walk across the threshold.

Because there are too many people for the limited space in our kitchen, and because the weather demands being outdoors today, we take the meal to a picnic table in the backyard.

"Where did the goose come from?" Leevy asks, referring to the main course.

"Haymitch donated it," Peeta tells her with a wry smile.

"I'm getting overrun," Haymitch responds in slightly slurred speech. "The suckers are breeding like rodents, and their squawking is driving me crazy."

I snort. When is Haymitch is ever sober enough to notice any squawking?

Maybe it's the joyous occasion, or the cheerful gathering of our friends, or maybe it's just my mother's cooking, but whatever it is, this might just be the best meal I've had since I've been back. And with Peeta's baking skills, and me bringing in fresh meat every day, that's saying a lot. I have to remind myself to leave room for the cake. And most importantly, the toast.

And Peeta! I don't remember ever seeing him this happy. Not when we were huddled in the cave during the Games, not when were were on the roof at the Training Center right before the Quarter Quell. Not even five months ago, when I accepted his proposal. But today, he's positively radiant.

One by one, we each finish eating and leave the table. Small groups form and engage in their own conversations. Peeta and I steal a few minutes alone in the kitchen. Somebody, I'm not sure who, walks in and, upon realizing we're in here, immediately backs out.

Shortly after that, somebody else less tactful walks in. "Oh, come on! Can't you two wait just a few more hours?"

I reach back and grab the first thing my hand touches. A canister of salt. I chuck it at the owner of the voice. "Go away, Johanna!" She ducks out of the way, missing impact by inches.

Peeta laughs. "She's right. We're being rude."

We go back out to rejoin our company. Peeta stops to talk to Haymitch. I find my mother out in front of the bakery, lost in thought.

"How long does it take for a shop to go up?" she asks. That's when I realize she's staring across the square at the foundation that was once her family's apothecary shop. I dare not hope she's actually considering what I think she's considering.

I shrug. "It depends. A couple of months maybe. It took forever for us to finish this place, because it rained so much during the summer, and we had to order specialty kitchen equipment."

"I have some loose ends to tie up in Four," she says, "so I'll have to go back there for a few weeks."

Now I have to ask. "What are you saying?"

"I think..." she begins. "I think I'm needed here."

Emotional vulnerability, especially toward my mother, has never been my strong suit, but now is hardly the time to hold back. I don't even try to stop the tears. "You are needed here. And I don't just mean because we don't have a healer."

My mother puts her arms around me. "Why are you crying?"

I hide my face in her shoulder as I choke out the words. "Because _I_ need you."

After a long embrace, my mother looks up at the sky. "I should go check on Lily now. Looks like we might have a storm headed our way, and I want to be home before it hits."

I dab at the remaining tears with the cuff of my sleeve. "Take a piece of wedding cake with you. Tell Greasy Sae I'm sorry they couldn't make it."

"I will."

"And we'll get started on your shop right away."

My mother smiles, gives a nod of assent, and walks back inside.

My mother isn't the only one with a mind of beating the storm home. One by one, our company begins to clear out.

"I told you Peeta wouldn't be able to take his eyes off you," Delly says as she's leaving.

"You're next," I say.

A grin spreads across her face, and I know I've stumbled upon something big. "What? Did Thom ask you?"

"Just a little while ago." She is absolutely beaming.

"Congratulations!" I say, hugging her tightly.

When our last guest is gone, I survey the colossal mess in the kitchen.

"We'll clean it up tomorrow," Peeta says, taking the plate with the toasting bread. I don't disagree.

Fingers entwined, we walk up the stairs and sit in front of the fireplace. As Peeta lights our first fire, I watch as the light from the flames dances across his face. With a long set of tongs, he holds the loaf of bread over it. When it's lightly toasted, he tears it in half, hands part of it to me, and we eat. This is the most important part of the ceremony. Now, we're truly husband and wife.

As the rain pelts the roof, and the flames die down to embers, Peeta and I get lost in our own world.


	8. Chapter 8

**I was going to end with the wedding, but a few more chapters are demanding to be written.**

* * *

I can feel Peeta's lips brush my cheek. I open my eyes just enough to see the pre-dawn tint of the sky before shutting them again. He must be wondering why I haven't moved yet. On a normal morning, I would be in the woods by now. The fact that I've been out of sorts lately hasn't been lost on him. He's been watching me like a hawk for the last couple of days.

He gets up and dresses, and I'm still lying there like a vegetable. He plants another kiss on my cheek. "I love you," he whispers, before heading down to the kitchen. In answer, I only manage a grunt.

It's an hour later when I finally muster the energy to drag myself out of bed. I don't even bother getting dressed before going downstairs. Peeta won't open the bakery for another hour, and the kitchen isn't open to the public anyway. When he sees me—groggy and completely disheveled and still in my nightgown—the only thing that reads on his face is concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Just tired," I tell him.

"Well, here. Breakfast is ready." He pulls a dish out of the oven. "Are you going hunting today?"

I shake my head. "Just to check my snares."

He carefully looks me over. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

Ugh. No, I'm actually not.

He sets a plate in front of me and the smell of the egg casserole hits me like a wrecking ball. And he put onions in it too! I quickly get up and make a mad dash for the toilet. Peeta is right behind me. He waits outside the bathroom for me to finish.

"I'm fine," I tell him when come out.

"No, you're not," he argues. "You should go back to bed."

"I don't need to go back to bed," I snap. "I need to eat. Just...not eggs. Or onions."

"Tell you what." He places his hands on my shoulders. "You go lie down, and I'll bring you whatever you want."

"Except I don't know what that is," I push him aside.

I return to the kitchen but am unable to find anything appetizing. I take my search to the front lobby—to the food set out for the customers. I don't even wait for the fifteen-step journey back to the kitchen table before ravenously tearing into the apple and goat cheese tart like it's the first meal I've had in days. Peeta just stands there, holding a tray of muffins, eying me with an unfathomable expression on his face. I think I owe him an explanation.

"I'm pregnant," I say with a full mouth. I've known this for three weeks. I was going to surprise him on our fifteenth anniversary, but that's two weeks from now. By then he'll insist that I see a healer.

The tray of muffins hits the floor with a crash.


	9. Chapter 9

Somehow I get the feeling I'll never forget those muffins.

Peeta stands there in disbelief. "I'm not sure I heard you right with your mouth full."

I swallow what remains in my mouth and repeat. "I'm pregnant."

Confusion crosses his face. "How?"

It's tempting—very tempting—to give the sarcastic answer that this question demands, but I hold my tongue. Of course Peeta knows how I got pregnant. But it is, in fact, a valid question because, as far as he knows, I'm still taking the pills that have prevented it for so many years. They used to be available only in the Capitol, but now they're made right here in our factory, and distributed around the districts. Unfortunately, they're still too expensive for most people to afford, but for those who can, they're worth it. To me, they've been priceless.

Peeta understands why I've been hesitant about giving him the children that he has desperately longed for since...well, since forever, and although he has never pressed the matter, it hasn't stopped him from bringing it up over the years.

Then a few years ago, he finally said, "From now on, I'll just let you to tell me when you're ready." And that's the last I heard about it. There was no anger or frustration in his tone, just acceptance. He'd probably resigned himself to the prospect that I would never come around. It was hurting him, and I hated myself for it.

Honestly, I thought I would have conquered this fear by now, but I haven't. The nightmares, which have served as reminders that those we love can always be taken away from us, still terrify me. But Peeta has been incredibly patient. And I know his heart breaks a little every time he sees Delly and Thom with their happy family, while all we have are two empty bedrooms. So, a few months ago, I decided it was time to let it go.

"I've stopped taking the pills," I say.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

Why? Because for one thing, I didn't expect to get pregnant so quickly, and I didn't want to see him get his hopes up month after month, only to have them dashed in the end. Haven't I caused him enough pain?

But there is another reason, and it's one I'm ashamed of. But it's probably the one I should give because, if I'm being completely honest with myself, it carried more weight than the first. My eyes drop to the floor as I speak.

"Because I'm selfish," I admit. "I knew that if I'd told you, there would be no going back, and I wanted an out, in case I changed my mind. And I almost did."

He puts his hand under my chin, lifting my eyes to his. "What stopped you?"

"I didn't want you to hurt anymore," I tell him.

A smile stretches across Peeta's face, and there is a brightness in his eyes that I haven't seen in a long time. It's as if all the years of pain had been taking their toll so gradually that I never even noticed it happening. And now it has suddenly been lifted all at once.

"We're really going to have a baby?" he asks.

I smile. "We really are."

"Whooo!" He gathers me up into his arms and plants kisses all over my face—on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my chin, my lips. I can't help but giggle as he kneels in front of me and places his hand on my abdomen.

"Hi there," he coos. "This is your daddy. I can't wait to meet you. I love you." He stands up and kisses both my hands. "When?"

"By my account, late May or early June."

"This calls for a celebration." He goes to a drawer and finds a piece of paper. With a marker, he writes FREE APPLE TARTS.

"You can't do that," I protest.

"Why not?" he asks, puzzled.

Is he serious? Besides the fact that we don't have enough ingredients to meet such a demand...

"Because those are mine." The apples and cheese—oh, the cheese—hit the spot in a way I can't even begin to describe.

"You're right." He gets another piece of paper and makes a different sign.

FREE MUFFINS


	10. Chapter 10

"Is it here?" I ask expectantly.

"Just arrived this morning," Holly disappears to a room in the back of the mercantile store, and returns a minute later with the item in question. A sterling silver frame for the portrait that I know Peeta will want to paint of the baby when it comes. I ordered it weeks ago for his birthday, and was starting to worry that it wouldn't make it in time. But thankfully, it did—right in the nick of time.

"Would you like me to wrap it for you?" Holly asks.

"Yes, please. Ow." I rub my swollen belly instinctively as the baby kicks. "Careful, babe," I murmer. "Those are mamma's ribs."

It's hard to describe the feelings that come over me whenever the baby moves. Contentment tainted with fear. Contentment, because every movement assures me that he is alive and well. Fear, because I know that from now on my only job is to keep him safe. At least right now I know he's in the safest place he can possibly be.

Holly cuts a section of wrapping paper. "How much longer do you have?"

I continue to run my fingertips along my imposing abdomen. "Another month."

"Hang in there. Before you know it, you'll be holding that baby in your arms." She hands over my wrapped package.

I don't want Peeta to see his gift yet, so I go around to the back of the bakery. I peek through the window to be sure Peeta is busy up front. As soon as I'm certain the coast is clear, I open the door as noiselessly as possible and sneak upstairs. I hide Peeta's gift in a closet, then go down to see him.

"How is my little apple tart doing?" he coos sweetly, rubbing my belly. The baby practically somersaults at the sound of his voice. "Whoa! What's going on in there?"

"He's been like this all day," I say. "He must be celebrating your birthday." It's hard to believe he won't be able to even lift his head when he's born. I'm half expecting him to crawl out.

"So it's a he today?" Peeta asks. "Yesterday it was a she."

I shrug. "Well, it's going to be one or the other. I don't want to keep calling it _it_."

Suddenly, the baby decides it's a fine time to start doing what I can swear are jumping jacks, and a warm liquid begins trickling down my legs.

Uh-oh.

"Um...Peeta," I say, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I think my water just broke."

* * *

My mother places her hands on my belly. "Any contractions?"

I shake my head. "Not yet."

She moves her hands around in quiet concentration. After a few minutes, she finally speaks. "I need to call the hospital."

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks. I can see he's struggling to stay composed.

"It's okay, Peeta," says my mother calmly. "The baby is just in breech. It's something that's best handled by a doctor." After a short pause, she adds, "You're lucky we have a hospital. Five years ago, I would have had to try to deliver the baby myself, and that would have posed a very dangerous risk to both of them."

I can tell this statement doesn't make Peeta feel much better.

Since the hospital isn't close enough for foot travel, my mother has to call an ambulance—one of the few vehicles that can be found anywhere in District Twelve. Within twenty minutes, I am placed on a stretcher and carted off. Peeta is there with me, trying to maintain a brave face.

The minute we get there, I am wheeled to the maternity ward, hooked up to a fetal monitor, and given an ultrasound. The doctor, a woman of about fifty, studies the machines carefully.

"It looks like the baby kicked hard enough to rupture the amniotic sac," she says. "We need to get it out right away. But because it's in the most complicated breech position imaginable, I'll have to do a caesarean."

"It's a month early," Peeta says. "Will the baby be okay?"

"I don't see any reason for alarm," the doctor assures him. Her cool demeanor suggests she's used to dealing with panicked patients. "You're less than a week from what is considered to be a full term pregnancy. The vitals look good, and it weighs more than six pounds. I think it will be fine."

A team of people in scrubs comes in and prepares for surgery.

"You'll have to wait outside, Mr. Mellark," says one of the staff.

"Can't I just sit with her?" he begs.

The man is resolute. "I'm sorry. Medical staff only. We'll let you know when we're finished."

I kiss the back of Peeta's hand, which has been entwined with mine the whole time. "It'll be okay."

He takes my face in his hands as I lie there. "I love you."

"I love you too," I say. "I'll see you soon."

He gives me a quick kiss and leaves. As the double doors close between us, the last thing I see is the fear in his eyes.

* * *

**Katniss is a little busy at the moment, so we're going to get this part of the story from Peeta.**

I've never been so scared in my entire life—and considering some of the blood-curtling nightmares I've lived through, that's saying a lot. One minute, I'm stocking pastries, and the next my very pregnant wife is in the back of an ambulance.

The separation is the worst part of the ordeal. If only I could go in there, hold her hand, be with her. That at least would be something. Instead, there is nothing to do but stare at the walls and wait as minute after agonizing minute ticks by. My only companion is the fear that I could lose both of them.

_That won't happen_, I try to convince myself. The doctor said they would be fine. That this type of thing is not uncommon. And she should know, right?

But she's not the one being forced to sit helplessly by and wait.

I pace back and forth across the waiting room. Thirty minutes pass without a word. Forty. Forty-five. It's like they're trying to torture me! Finally, after an endless hour, the same nurse that ushered me out here emerges through the double doors.

"Congratulations, Mr. Mellark," he says with a smile. Well, that's assuring. "You may go in and see them now."

Them. See _them_. The baby is here! I give the nurse a hasty thank you and dart into the room as fast as I can. Katniss is sitting up, crooning an old familiar lullaby to a bundle in her arms. Her voice is heavenly, and she is wearing the most tender facial expression I've ever seen. I take a seat next to her on the hospital bed.

"Would you like to hold her?" she whispers.

As I take my sleeping daughter in my arms and gaze upon her face for the first time, I am instantly captivated.

"She looks just like you," I say to Katniss. "Beautiful."

"She has your eyes." Katniss says.

I place a gentle kiss on her tiny forehead. I have never been so in love. And that's saying a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

**This story technically ended with the last chapter, but this little scene popped into my head. It's short, and completely silly, but I didn't really want to end this without acknowledging that they did have a second child. And anyway, who doesn't want to see Peeta in dad mode?**

* * *

"Mamma, why is your tummy so big and fat?"

This most innocent observation from our daughter over dinner causes Peeta to spew his goat milk out through his nose. "If you think it's big now, just wait," he says.

"Thanks." I roll my eyes. But I'm not offended, because...well, because it's true. "It's because there's a baby in there," I explain to the girl.

"What?" Her mouth hangs wide open. She's so animated, it kills me. "How did a baby get in your tummy?"

"Why don't you take this one, Daddy?" I say to Peeta, who is still in hysterics.

He suddenly stops laughing and thinks quickly for an explanation fit for a three-year-old. "Let's see...do you remember that night we saw that shooting star?"

The girl nods.

"Well, your mother swallowed it and it turned into a baby."

"Good one." I say, raising my glass. I never would have thought of that on the spot the way he did.

"Oh," she says. I'm relieved that she seems to be satisfied with Peeta's answer. That is, until she adds, "I want to swallow a shooting star, too."

"Not until you're thirty," Peeta says.

"Can you get it out?"

"We'll get it out in December," I say. _Or sooner, __if it decides to pull your antics_. "That's just three more months. And then, you'll have a brother or sister."

"I want a sister," she says.

"We'll see what happens," I say. "Will it be okay if it turns out to be a brother?"

She thinks about it. "I guess so."

"Finish your stew," Peeta says. "And then we'll go upstairs and draw some pictures."

The girl gets back to eating. Thankfully, with no more questions requiring imaginative answers.


End file.
